Sanji was in his element in the kitchen. He looked natural there, like he was born right from the floor and made to work the kitchen. His movements were fluid and graceful, never lacking in purpose. His hands worked deftly, dexterous fingers painting elegant shapes as they twisted through dough and flicked through spices.
Zoro watched the cook work intently. He'd intended to simply take a bottle of booze and be on his way, but the cook's movements caught his attention and he found himself seated at the table across the room. If the cook found this behavior odd, he didn't mention it. He only spared the swordsman one curious glance before continuing on his work.
As careful and graceful as his movements were, Sanji himself never looked less put together than he did while working. He'd shed his stuffy suit jacket and did away with his tie. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone and his sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, exposing more skin then Zoro was used to seeing from the cook. Without his tie, Sanji's neck seemed longer, the cream colored skin looked softer and Zoro wondered how that skin would feel if he touched it. Would it be as smooth and soft as it looked? What would it feel like against his lips? How would it taste?
The sudden rush of arousal surprised Zoro. He pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the cook's work instead.
Sanji pulled a whisk from the holder and began flicking it blindingly fast through a batter mixture. Sanji's hands were fascinating to Zoro. They were the cook's most precious treasures, hence why the slighter man only fought with his feet. However Sanji's hands were far from delicate, they were just as toughened and scarred as Zoro's own; a sign of hard work over a lifetime of dedication to his practice. They were certainly more elegant looking than Zoro's though. Sanji's fingers were longer, bonier, and more dexterous than Zoro's own. Sanji's power was in his legs, but his true skill was in his hands.
Zoro's problem wasn't going away. He found himself flicking open the button of his pants, watching the cook carefully for any sign that the working man might know what he was up to. Sanji had barely spared him a glance since he'd sat down. Even if he did look, Zoro was sitting in the perfect spot to get away with this undetected. He carefully maintained a neutral expression as his hand found its way into his pants, palming the hardening erection beneath.
It was hard, with the cook being right there, not to fantasize. Especially while Sanji was cooking. Zoro hadn't thought that the cook's everyday chores could be so borderline suggestive. When Sanji scooped a bit of the batter up onto a finger and popped it into his mouth. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked the batter from his finger. He pulled the finger out with a pop, and Zoro watched his tongue dart out to lick any remaining traces of flavor from his finger.
Zoro had to suppress a groan and worked his hand up and down his length in steady, even strokes. He watched the cook carefully for some reaction, afraid the movements of his arm would be too obvious. But Sanji remained oblivious; having decided the batter was acceptable he set it aside, picking up a knife instead.
Sanji's skilled hands worked fluidly over the handle of the knide, seeming to contemplate his choice in blade before setting to work. Zoro watched the cook chop up a stalk of celery, picturing those skilled hands doing much different things. Surely Sanji's hands were skilled enough to make a hand job feel like heaven, and Zoro bit the inside of his lip as he pictured those hands working him instead of his own.
Zoro's hand sped up, just slightly. He wasn't seeing the cook in front of him anymore; he was picturing the cook beneath him instead. He could picture his lips ghosting down that pale neck, pausing to nip or lick a particularly sweet spot. He could practically feel Sanji's hands in his pants, pulling him a part while Zoro tried so hard to keep his sense. He could imagine himself returning the favor, causing the cook to arch into him and moan; that lithe body flexing beneath him while those beautiful lips made the most incredible sounds. Zoro could picture those impossibly long and powerful legs wrapping around him; beckoning him closer, begging him for more.
A shaky sigh left Zoro as he came into his hand, shuddering with his release. He'd tried to keep silent, but again it seemed the cook could care about his presence. Withdrawing his hand from his pants he winced at the mess he'd made. He'd need a shower now, and preferably soon. He stood from the table, not forgetting to grab his bottle on his way to the door.
His hand had barely made contact with the handle of the galley door when the voice stopped him. He turned curiously, his face a mask of nonchalance as he looked to the cook
Sanji was leaning against the counter, those sinful lips exhaling a cloud of smoke before stretching into a playful grin; playful and teasing, but not antagonistic as it usually was. The cook looked him over once and Zoro became painfully aware of the drying come in his hand and the slight wet spot in his underwear.
"Maybe next time you'll invite me to join you, yeah?"
Zoro simply stared in shock, not sure if he should be more in awe that the cook caught him or that the other man was practically offering to make Zoro's fantasies come true. Seeing the cook's playful expression assured him he wasn't imagining things, and for the first time ever Zoro found himself more than willing to spend some alone time with the cook.
"Now get out of my kitchen, pervert," Sanji chuckled, waving a towel at Zoro. The swordsman readily obeyed but only because the absurdity of the situation was still playing through his mind.
Once outside the galley, free of the cook's presence, Zoro tried to make sense out of what had just transpired. With his head clearer he began to wonder just how much of the cook's almost suggestive cooking gestures had actually been for his benefit.
A/N: I just has a weird inspiration to write this. It didn't actually turn out as planned, but I don't hate it either. Feedback is much appreciated!